Second Is The Best
by bethyreddingrocks
Summary: Emily Lorang is the new girl in town. After an accident involving her lunch on Jesse Tuck's shirt, the two form a close friendship. She sees how much he is in pain after losing a mysterious girl named Winnie Foster, who Jesse claims died years before. Will Jesse realize his love for Emily, or will his heart forever belong to Winnie? Takes place after the events of Tuck Everlasting.
1. Chapter 1

EMILY

A loud ringing shrieked in my left ear. My tired eyes fluttered open. Glancing around my dark room, it couldn't surely be time already, I thought coherently. I still needed fifteen more minutes. Without giving the clock a second glance, I slapped the snooze button, and buried myself under the bed covers. My extra puffy white comforter encased me like a cocoon. Inside, it was warm and comfortable and dark. The thickness of the material blocked out any light. All was silent except for my steady breathing. Gradually, I felt my eyes begin to close to the rhythm of my heart.

At the foot of my bed, I felt the mattress sag from sudden exertion of extra weight. Even under my many layers of blankets, I felt a tentative touch shake me gently, followed by the soft voice of my mother, sweet as honey, "Come on, dear. Time to wake up." My only reply was a muffled groan. I felt her slowly tug the blanket off of my feet, as she always did to wake me up. "You don't want to be late for your first day of school, do you?" Her voice rose an octave with excitement. "I can hardly believe it! My baby is a senior!"

I was grateful for the concealment of the blankets so my mother couldn't see me roll my eyes. Don't get me wrong - I love my mom. She is probably the person I'm closest to in the world. No matter how pathetic this makes me sound, my mom is my best friend. We share a really close bond. My father left her when I was a baby, ultimately encouraging her to step up to the bat as a single mother. As for my father, he's ancient history; the drawer containing his love was shut long ago. It rattles time to time, but rarely actually opens, never more than a crack. Even then, it is shut as quickly as it was opened. The only thing I inherited from him is my blue eyes and musical talent. But I still feel no connection to him. My bubbly, silly, loving, passionate mother is all I need.

Catching me off guard, my mom used the opportunity to her advantage by yanking the blanket off of me. Bright sunlight streaming in through my now open bedroom window left me feeling light-headed and dizzy. Adverting my eyes from the intensely blinding light, I wiggled onto my side and nuzzled my face into the pillow. Gooseflesh prickled up and down my exposed skin. I'm well aware I'm only wearing a pair of sleeping boxers and a tank top, but it's only my mom who sees me in this state of shape - and, honestly I don't care all that much. Nudity doesn't seem to have the same effect on me as it does on other people. That doesn't mean I'd walk out on the streets like that. I think it would get a little breezy.

I knotted my fingers in the cotton bed sheets stubbornly. "Really, Em, please get up." My mom sighed, resorting to using my special nickname. I was surprised. She usually doesn't use that tactic until the ten minute mark. She must be really desperate today. Still unresponsive, I lay face down; my face pressed against the cool cotton sheets. I've been dreading this day for weeks now; it had come to fast. What had happened to the summer? The last week?

"Emily," my mother warned, the tone of her voice a little sharp. The thing about my mom is she never yells or gets really angry, and she rarely ever raises her voice above her ecstatic chatter. That was why I was surprised by the way she had said my name. For once there was the authority of a mother in her voice.

"Fine," I mumbled groggily, pushing myself onto my feet. I flinched at the feel of the cold wooden floor boards beneath my bare feet. I sighed blatantly, longing for my old shag carpet. My special green fuzzy one. My mother promised I would get it when the rest of our stuff is shipped here.

At the end of the school year, my mom got a job offer as a third grade teacher at Spokes Elementary. It would give her a huge promotion and pay more than her lousy job at the intermediate school where she taught as a second grade teacher. I was happy for her - until I learned it was in California; thousands of miles away from my beloved New York City, with its winding subways and hot dog carts on every corner. To further exacerbate the situation, it was in a little town I'd never heard of. Treegap. My new home was Treegap, California.

My mom said she didn't have to take the job; she could wait for another one, perhaps closer to home. Of course - I wanted to scream yes, but even I knew her optimism was being wasted. As she said the words, her face completely straight, I could see the desire, the longing burning in her eyes. When would she get another opportunity like this knocking on her door? And she would give it up - all for her selfish teenage daughter. I didn't want to jeopardize her future when, after all, college is only a year away. Reluctantly, I told her she should go for it. When I saw the happiness on her face, it was almost worth it - that was until she told me she'd found me a new school that would take me despite it being my senior year of high school.

I had not anticipated a new school. At that moment, I felt my whole plan crashing down on me like a ton of cinder blocks. I'd have to go to a new school? With new people, new teachers? Ones I didn't know. To make matters worse, it would be my senior year. Everyone would already know each other and have made friends, meanwhile, I would be alone, the freak from New York. I couldn't even imagine the nicknames they would come up with to torment me with.

On the bright side, it wasn't like I was leaving any friends behind. I'd never been very popular at my old school, either. So it's most likely I brought my unpopular streak with me. It's not that I'm mean or violent or that I smoke pot - that I definitely don't do... but I've never really fit in with the crowd. I'm not certain what it is, but it makes me different from them. Unfortunately, it doesn't gain me many companions in the process.

My mother says I'm just unique and a little eccentric. My former fellow peers regarded me as weirdo or freak, the girl who collects the old crap, or antiques, the proper term. I have to agree with the second one, though. Even I think I'm a bit on the abnormal side. But unlike many people, I accept it. Okay, so I wouldn't yell about it off of the Statue of Liberty but still... at least I know who I am.

_Now it's time to prove it again, _I think, trying my hardest to sound optimistic and confident. But even I sound pitiful to myself.

"Emily?" My mother inquired softly. A little startled, I snapped back to attention to find her slender figure standing in the doorway. It still surprises me exactly how identical I am to her. She looks a lot like an older me, aged about twenty years. Her silvery blonde hair is tucked up into a soft bun at the nape of her neck. Today she is wearing her knee-length floral skirt she knit herself out of a sewing kit, and a deep cherry red sweater over a crisp white blouse. I'd nearly forgotten, it is her first day of school too.

Her warm hazel eyes gazed at me with warm, affectionate motherly concern. She eyed me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. I then realized she had just asked me a question. Shaking my head, I asked apologetically, "Sorry Mom. What did you say?"

"Oh," she repeated, "I just want to know if you would like blueberry pancakes for breakfast."

I put on my most winning smile, hoping I at least look somewhat convincing. "Sure, sounds great."

My mother nodded deftly, examining me like I have the flu. She opened and closed her mouth several times like she wanted to say some encouraging first day of school advice, but after standing there for a couple moments, she simply walked away to make me my breakfast.

Once she was gone, I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me and flipped on the overhead light. My bedroom still looks like a bland hotel room. The walls are painted a generic shade of beige. The temporary dark curtains have been pushed aside to let in some light. Not a single personal item except for a picture of my mother and me in front of the Statue of Liberty decorates the room. My only furniture are the new bed my mother bought for me, my nightstand, and a white desk shoved into the back corner. Unopened boxes are piled against the back wall, stacked on top of each other.

Despite living here since the beginning of summer, I haven't really unpacked anything. I have practically been living out of boxes. I know, really lazy of me. But the truth is I haven't figured out how to decorate my room. My mother promised me I could make my room anyway I wanted; she would cover all the expenses - out of guilt, of course.

On the bright side, I don't have to share a small, one-sink bathroom with my mother anymore. In fact, that's what has been getting me through this whole moving segue - my own _bathroom_.

Laying neatly folded on top of one of the boxes is my first day of school outfit selection. I'd selected it carefully the previous day; tearing through my whole wardrobe to find something decent. Oddly, I actually worried about making my first impression on these people. It took me a solid three hours to settle on a tunic-style baby blue dress with a butterfly design paired with a simple brown belt and lace-up calf length boots. Even then, I had laid awake long last night, fretting about the first day. It was petty of me, I know. But I couldn't help but worry. Aren't California people all glam with beach bodies and perfect tans? Meanwhile, I'm boring vanilla compared to their chocolate.

Sure, I'm pretty, I guess, in a way. I have long silvery blonde hair, ending in waves; a pretty, but unnatural color. Some people have asked me multiple times if my hair is dyed, I always answer a timid no, to which they are always shocked. My eyes, a startling electric blue, are wide under thick eyelashes; the only physical feature that sets me apart from my mother. Like her, my body figure is slight and slender. My skin is on the fair side, but not really classified as pale. Pretty, maybe, but I wouldn't call myself beautiful.

The boys back home never gave me a second glance, so I guess that dropped me a hint. Honestly, I've never had a real boyfriend; a few crushes back in Junior High, but nothing serious ever came out of those. Part of the reason may be is because I tend to shy away from thinking of myself as a girlfriend to anyone. It makes me feel awkward around any boys I talk to that I have a crush on. As always, it ends up ruining any microscopic chance I had with them. So that's my tragic love life, if I even have one.

I quickly tugged on my dress, fidgeting with the belt until it was in perfect position. Aspiring to prevent my usual morning bedhead from making an appearance in public today, I ran a brush through my hair and patted down any astray locks. After brushing my teeth twice, making sure to get every corner, I finally emerge from my room, groomed and dressed for the day.

Over in our sunny kitchen, my mother was just placing my breakfast down on the table. Without a moment of hesitation, I was in my seat, scarfing down fluffy, steaming bites of blueberry pancakes. Only when nearly half of my breakfast is gone, do I stop to breathe. I washed any bits of pancake down with a glass of orange juice, with perspiration rolling down the sides of the cool glass.

My mother was smiling widely a grin that stretches from ear to ear. "So, is it good?" She queried casually, trying to hold back a laugh, but not very successfully. Embarrassed, I ducked my head and traced patterns on my place mat. Taking that as a yes, she conceeded lightly, "I'm glad you like it."

"Well, I figured it would be better than school..." I trailed off, looking out the window sulkily. My earlier bitter mood had returned.

Across the table I heard my mother sigh. "Look... I know moving has been hard on you - but I just have this feeling that something great is waiting here for you. I know it."

I still did not fix my gaze back on her. For once, I felt like I have the right to be the moody, hormonal teenage daughter; my mother was way overdue for the experience. Scowling, I glare outside at the ineptly manicured lawns. Flower beds dotted with blobs of red, yellow, pink - and any color you could imagine sparkled in the morning light. The shrubs plotted throughout the yards were all perfectly clipped and uniform. In the center of pretty much every lawn, there is a porcelain birdbath; some even with built in fountains. Cheerful, smiling gnomes peeked out among the forests of freesias. All of these lawns are different, yet exactly the same. There seemed to be no creative ideas here. Growing up as a city girl, I had no experience with gardens or lawns or grass. And the only dirt I ever handled was the kind found on the streets. It all looked like something I would see on the back of postcard; something that wasn't real to me before, but is now right outside my door.

When I still give my mother no answer, or even an indication that I heard her at all, she quickly changes the subject. "So how is working for Mr. Quinn?"

"It's fine," I answered nonchalantly, not loosening my puckered brow one bit. Truthfully, it's great. I love working down at Rocking Rhythms; though I'm not a big fan of the store's name. It always smells new and fresh in there, and the best music is always playing softly in the background. The usual costumers are respectful and nice enough, and most of them have a pretty good taste in music. I also really like my boss, Mr. Quinn. He's this middle-aged Native American guy who has a spare tire and wears his long raven black hair in a ponytail. He also has a pretty good sense of humor and is a pretty cool guy, I have to admit. So I really don't mind working extra shifts.

"That's good," she said softly, returning back to her breakfast. After shooting the street another scornful glance, I turned back to my breakfast, eating it quickly before it got cold. When there was not a single crumb left on my plate, I reluctantly rinsed my plate and loaded it into the dishwasher, shoving it two times until the piece of junk closed all the way. Nerves began to set in as I sucked in air sharply. I couldn't delay anymore. It was time.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, loaded with all my books and school supplies. On my way out the door, I gave my mother a kiss on her cheek and whispered in her ear, "I love you, Mom."

She grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I love you too, sweetie. Good luck today."

I nodded and muttered under my breath, "I'm going to need it," before stepping outside into the cool morning. The sun warmed my back and left bright patches on our lawn; and compared to the other lawns on the street, ours looked ghetto and abused. Briskly walking over to the garage, I pulled out my old, faithful Schwinn, newly adorned with a fresh red paint job. Eagerly I climbed on and instantly began pedaling down the open, empty streets, swaying slightly in delight as leaves crackled under the tires. The bright white sidewalk was nearly blinding to my eyes, so I fixed my gaze forward instead. When I came to the little intersection, my mouth almost hung open at the "busy" morning commute. There were four, maybe five cars waiting for a light change. Back in New York, there were dozens and hundreds all at once. It was hard to refrain from rolling my eyes as the crossing guard waved me across.

My eyes widened as I took in Foster High School. It looked more like a senator's house then a school. The whole school was made completely out of polished white marble. There were three separate buildings; the largest, clearly marked Building A, was the main one. Building B and Building C flanked it on opposite sides. The grounds, I noticed, were elaborately maintained. Colorful flower beds were placed along on the sides by the school, bringing color to the area.

Instantly, the nerves were back, and I felt like I was going to be sick. All around me students talked and laughed with their friends near the entrance, but where did I fit in? I felt overdressed next to their casual dress of t-shirts and jeans. I felt so lost. I decided getting my schedule and checking in would be a good start. So, putting my kickstand back up, I rode to Building C marked "Office." I parked my bike among the bike rack, discovering I was only bike there. I am not all that surprised. Although I am seventeen and legally illegible to have a license or a car, I don't have one. Back home, you really don't need a car to get around. But here they seem to be lacking a good subway system, unfortunately. So I guess you're stuck with learning to drive or riding the bus.

Trying to advert attention from myself, I raced inside quickly. Unlike the crowded school yards, it's quiet in here; much more to my liking. The only other people in here are a lady with a bed of dark curly hair behind a oak desk and a smiley girl with tresses of golden hair like a princess's. She is bouncing in her chair eagerly. I make the wise decision to go to the dark-haired woman.

She asked few questions before handing me my printed schedule. But before I could leave, the lady said, "Oh, this is Stephanie. She will be your guide."

"Hi," squealed the blonde girl, or Stephanie, beaming. "I'm Stephanie, you must be Emily Lorang."

"Um, yeah, that's me alright." I said.

_It's not like you heard me say that two seconds ago_.

"Well, it's still great to meet you!" Stephanie gushed, pulling me by the hand out of the doors back into the bright light of day. "Come one, let's go. _Our_ first class is English with Santigo. We don't want to be late!"

I tuned out Stephanie's anomalous chatter and watched with interest as a black motorcycle pulled into the teeming parking lot, stopping at the curb. A boy climbed off, swinging his leg off swiftly and easily. He was pretty tall standing at full height, I estimated about six foot, maybe six foot one. He was dressed in simple apparel like everyone else. He was wearing a pair of ripped up jeans and a plain grey t-shirt and biker boots. I was surprised at his careless lack of padding on such a deathtrap like that. At least he was wearing a helmet. I watched as he took it off and carelessly threw it onto the seat. He had a cute face. His hair was a dark brown, choppy and wavy, reaching to his shoulders. I liked this little rebellion. From this distance, I could only see the slight boyish roundness of his face and his dark brows. But it was easy to see something else as he walked up the stairs into the main building. His expression, the way he walked... it was sad, like every step he took hurt.

I hadn't even realized Stephanie had stopped dragging me along. I looked back at her standing next to me, her lip curled resentfully. "Who's that?" I asked softly, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the unknown boy.

Stephanie's blue gaze was hard and metallic. "Jesse. Jesse Tuck."

**What on earth did I just write? Ah, well, all the same! Please review if you like and want me to continue! Mwhaha! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

A surge of anomalous chatter nearly deafened me as I strode into home room, chin tilted high, caution lacing my every step, as if I were sneaking through a field of killer lions instead of high school seniors. As I sat down in the only available seat over by the window in the back of the classroom, I pretended to be oblivious to the stares my fellow peers were giving me. At least some attempted to be discreet about it - sneaking a peek over the top of their textbooks; while others had no such courtesy as they pinpointed me with blazing steel glares, gawking.

Slumping down far in the plastic chair, I noticed the same girl staring at me since I had first walked in. She was short with a curvy figure, complete with full hips; her back-end was almost ripping out of her flared designer jeans. Her skin was a rich copper tan, the types you only saw on the front of Rolling Stone magazines. I'll admit, I was a little jealous. She had plump, crimson lips, moist and satiny, brown eyes dancing with a reckless fire, and a wild, unruly mane of cinnamon-colored curls, popping out of her skull like metal cork springs.

Behind her, flanking her in almost a uniform position, were two other teen girls. On the right was a familiar face. Stephanie eagerly bounced as she waved at me ecstatically. The other girl stationary on the left didn't fit in with the group at all. In fact, she looked like the type of girl you would find sniffling behind the school dumpster while she vegged out all her teeming feelings about the cruelty and prejudice of high school into a diary. She was short and could easily pass as a 6th grader. She was also covered with freckles from head to toe and had carrot-colored hair resting in a frizzy mop atop her head. Behind neon green wide-framed glasses, her enlarged green eyes analyzed me skeptically as slender fingers tugged at a hem in her plaid skirt. But before I got time to conduct a full analysis on this peculiar duo, they descended on me.

"So, I heard we had a new student," purred the dark-haired girl, her voice thick with some type of foreign accent.

Unable to formulate any words at their abrupt arrival, I could only sit there stone-faced like a total idiot. But this must of amused the dark-haired girl because she released a laugh, her voice ringing like the delicate tinkling of a bell. "I'm Maria Caligari." She stuck out one of her manicured hands in invitation.

Finally able to force out some sort of intelligible English, I quickly stuttered, "Emily Lorang."

Maria casted me with a gleaming white smile. "It's nice to meet you, Emily," she replied. The tone of her voice caught me off guard... her in general totally appalled me. Unlike the catty snobs back at my old school, everything about her was genuine. Did I hit my head? I must be hallucinating.

But before I could go farther into my internal debate if I was having a concussion, Maria continued, "This is Fan." She motioned to the short carrot-haired girl, who simply continued to stare back at me, her apathetic expression almost wary. "She doesn't talk much," Maria added.

Ready to combust, Stephanie charged forward and enveloped me in a vise-tight hug. "Hi, Emily! You remember me, right?"

Gasping for breath, and certain my lungs were about to explode, I choked out, "How could I forget you Stephanie?"

Stephanie pulled me back at arm-length and looked me straight in the eyes, her expression one of complete embarrassment. "I'm so sorry I lost you in all the madness of the hallway! Sometimes I just get so carried away with talking..."

I couldn't resist the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. Already I knew it was impossible to ever hate a girl like Stephanie. In many strange ways she reminded me of having a pet dog, a faithful companion that you could never stay mad at, even when they destroyed you're best pair of shoes. "It's okay," I reassured her, putting a small, tentative smile on display.

"You two are so sweet," Maria purred. "Hey, why don't we continue this party at lunch? Emily, there's an empty seat at our table."

It took nearly a full minute before my mind registered the words. An actual living, breathing teenager wanted to eat lunch... with me?

"Uh, sure, why not..." I replied uneasily.

Stephanie bounced me up and down and squealed, "Great! See you there!" before bounding away with the other girls to their seats. As class began, for the first time in about two months I felt an unexpected twinge of hope. Maybe Treegap wouldn't be so bad. After all, I hadn't even been in school for a day and I already had two friendships in the making. Well, at least it's a start.

* * *

Lunch came sooner than expected.

In fact, the morning had been so hectic that as soon as I had went through the lunch line, I would have altogether forgotten my lunch plans, if it had not been for Stephanie who swooped in like a hawk and dragged me by the arm, her razor-sharp hot pink nails digging into the flesh of my forearm.

Her iron grip did not loosen until she had parked me down in a seat at a round table outside under an open-air pavilion. Although New York had many admirable charms, outdoor dining was not one of them. The air outdoors was mild and dry, with the sun shining brightly in the azure sky above. In the middle of the dining pavilion, a fountain gurgled crystal clear water in a placid rhythm. The air also held a sweet fragrance of mingling freesia and roses, much more inviting to my nose than the irritating stench of pollution.

Almost as if she could read my mind, Maria queried, "So what was New York like?"

"Way different from this," I responded. "The schools were always overcrowded and most students shared a locker. Also, there aren't many houses as big as these. Most people live in small apartments or flats. My mom and I used to be tenants of this really old building. The manager was this old bald dude named Mr. Jensen who always smelled like cigarettes and stale beer."

Stephanie's eyes widened as she took a large bite from an apple. "Was it all like that?"

I shook my head. "No, most everything is amazing. I mean, _was_ for a city girl like me. Everyday I loved riding the Segway, and visiting the Empire State Building was always cool. I must have been at least one-hundred times. It was always fun, especially when I used to ride the elevator for two hours. Have any of you guys ever been?"

Stephenie looked wistful, almost as if she were experiencing my own desires."No. Too much pollution. It gives my mom headaches."

"I know who has. Jesse Tuck."

I nearly jumped in surprise as Fan spoke. I had forgotten she was even there.

I turned to face her wide gaze, her lips slowly moving as she finished mumbling the words.

A vague image flashed before my lids from this morning. "Jesse Tuck? The guy with the motorcycle?"

Fan nodded and continued in a hushed whisper, "He's been all over the world. Even been to the Eiffel Tower eleven times."

"_Eleven_? Wait, you're talking about _the _Eiffel Tower? Not just the miniature one in Vegas?"

"She's right," Stephanie agreed, pinching the edges of her styrofoam lunch tray. "He used to be quite the explorer."

Dubiously, I examined each of their grim faces, taut with sympathy. "What do you mean by _used to be_?What happened?"

Maria hastily looked around to see if anyone was listening in. "A girl named Winnie."

"Winnie?" I asked, utterly lost. "Does she attend this school?"

Fan shook her head. "No."

"Than who is she?"

"No one knows," Stephanie admitted. "But Jesse has her name tattooed on the inside of his wrist, and he has said no to every girl who's given him a shot." Her tone became bitter at the last part.

"I guess I feel kind of bad for him," I announced loudly, arranging my lunch debris on top of my tray. "Obviously, he had some strong feelings for this girl." Collecting up my tray, I began to turn around, oblivious to the warning gestures of Stephanie, Maria and Fan. "He must have never have gotten over this Winnie chick if he dumped his dreams like that..."

And I sent the remnants of my tuna casserole splattering down the front of Jesse Tuck's shirt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi guys, sorry this chapter is so short and it took me so long to update, but I swear I'll try harder to write faser next time. Secondly, I would like to thank kaci12, Guest, and . Enemy. 172 for reviewing, and kaci12, inmortalrose10, bookworm23821, VampireDiariesLuver, and EaglesFlyingFree for making my story a favorite. I would never be where I am now without you guys, so keep the love coming! **

The whole lunchroom went deathly silent.

Internally, I wished I could just disappear, for something to break this conscious nightmare. Where's a fiery meteor when you need one?

No matter how hard I prayed or dreamed up escape plans, the clenching of my gut told me I us just going to have to the navigate through the storm. Breaking away from my reverie, I did the typical thing: repeatedly apologized and mumbled unintelligible phrases, while I attempted to wipe up the stain with some spare napkins. Much to dismay, they appeared to only be making the mess worse the more I scrubbed. To prevent further staining, I hastily reached for some cold water. Naturally, I stumbled over my own two feet.

Fortunately, before I could come into contact with the pavement, a strong pair of arms locked around my waist and steadied me. A gasp escaped my lips as I found myself gazing up into the deep blue eyes of Jesse Tuck, two deep pools in which I felt I could never touch the bottom. I weakly muttered, "I'm sorry."

Jesse nodded and released his grip. "It's okay, I didn't like this shirt anyway," he reassured me with a smile, strained and fake like a cheap piece of plastic. Unease prickled under my skin as his eyes analyzed me, his expression undecipherable.

Jesse was much more handsome up close and personal. Although he had a slender build, he was muscular with his abdominal muscles taut beneath his white t-shirt, and his biceps bulged beneath his sleeves. His dark wavy hair framed his sculpted face, but there was also some entrancing boyishness to his appearance in the roundness of his face, the subtle plumpness of his cheeks.

Jesse cleared his throat awkwardly. My cheeks flared crimson as I realized in mortification that I had been staring. It was already bad enough he had heard me gossiping about his love life.

"I'll pay for your shirt," I offered instinctively, rummaging through my bag for my wallet.

Jesse grimaced as I stepped forward with the crumpled wad of bills in hand. Hesitantly, he took a step back. "Really, don't worry about it. I'll see you around."

As he spun on his heel and bolted out of the cafeteria, I mumbled under my breath, "By the way it's Emily, and it's a pleasure to meet you, too."

I didn't make eye contact with anyone the rest of the day. Head down, eyes glued to the linoleum floor, this is how I staggered through the last few periods. Luckily, I only had one class with Jesse, whom I kept a great distance from, and avoided any deep-dish casseroles. His feelings also appeared mutual, as he made no attempt to strike up a conversation, for which I was grateful. I wasn't sure how much more my fragile dignity could withstand.

Yet as I attempted to pay attention during the history teacher Mr. Edgar's lecture, I found my gaze kept wandering to the other side of the room where a pair of deep blue eyes was fixated ahead. Quickly, I would snap back to attention, and focus on the dull monotone of Mr. Edgar. Nonetheless, every now and then I would sneak a quick glance over my shoulder.

When the dismissal bell rang, I am pretty certain I was the first out the heavy metal doors at three o' clock. A gentle breeze had picked up, and the sun's beating rays were soothing and warming among the placid environment of the sunny California afternoon. Inhaling a lungful of the fragrant air, I felt euphoric at the end of the school day. Although, I had to admit, it didn't go half as bad as I expected it to be. Of course, it wasn't all smooth sailing. But, I reassured myself, this was high school I was referring to.

Safe until Tuesday, I jumped upon my bike and pedaled out of the parking lot. Though school hours may have been over, I still had my afternoon shift down at Rocking Rhythms. The community of Treegap was tranquil in the light of the afternoon recreation hours. Several elementary-school age children ran around the playground at the park, while dogs of all sizes barked at me behind picket fences as I rode past.

I was completely at ease as I parked my bike at the curb of Rocking Rhythms. Overhead, the bell chimed above the door as I pushed it open. As expected, the store was a complete ghost town when I walked in.

From behind a shelf of vinyl records, Mr. Quinn emerged, smiling and covered from head to toe in a fine layer of lint. "Good afternoon, Emily," he rumbled in his deep, husky voice. He took my hand in his large, calloused one and shook it rigorously.

"You too, Mr. Quinn," I replied politely.

Chortling, he insisted, "Please, call me Michael."

"Okay, Mr. Qui – I mean Michael, sir."

The evening passed quickly with only one visit from a usual customer named Dolores, who always showed up before closing time, with a basketful of homemade goodies and some sugar for Mr. Quinn. Although they weren't official, Mr. Quinn and Dolores had been harboring affectionate feelings toward each other for quite a long time – seven years, according to Dolores. Their anniversary had been in June.

With a cinnamon bun made from scratch in one hand, I locked up the darkened store, before shuffling to my bike. But just as I gripped the handle bars, an explosion at my feet, followed by a deafening boom and vibrant neon colors whirling before my eyes, forced me to the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

After the dense curtain of smoke passed, I still remained sprawled on my hands and knees,wincing in pain as I peeled my face off of the jagged pavement. In both of my ears, there was a harsh, sopranno ringing, in rhythm to the rapid beating of my pulse. My vision blurred and distorted, I watched in bewilderment as the fabric of my jacket darkened into a deep crimson. Despite my injured state, I was well aware that what had just occurred was no accident.

There was a dull ache on the palms of my hands as I hefted myself back to my feet. With a brief glance, I could tell in the pale glow of the moon they were scraped raw. Thankfully, nothing serious, but it would be a challenge to engage in any activities involving my hands for the next week. All concern for myself pushed aside, I scanned the premises for my attacker. Tonight the dim streetlights cast a subtle hue on the quiet streets of Treegap, but all seemed empty and devoid of any human presence. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Back in New York, the city was always teeming with life and noise. My mother had remarked that the silence of Treegap was peaceful, but secretly, I found it unnerving and lonely.

An eerie, distant hoot of an owl was abruptly interrupted by rambunctious whoops. Instantly, I whipped around to the source of the noise. As soon as I analyzed the people before me, my suspicions were confirmed. Teenagers.

There were four high-school-age boys, all clad in leather jackets and worn jeans. Their dark attire nearly camouflaged them as part of the night sky, but my sharp eyes were easily able to detect their distinct moving forms. None displayed any sort of guilt for nearly killing me. In fact, they didn't even acknowledge me at all; instead they were absorbed in laughing and stupidly shoving each other as they swore and joked among themselves.

After several moments, a member of the insane boy pack finally noticed me standing there. "Hey! Hey, bitch!" he called at the top of his lungs. His friends chortled behind him. The speaker smirked, encouraged by the attention of his followers, and continued. "How did you like the fireworks? I heard girls like explosive things, and baby, I am dynamite.."

Anger vibrated throughout my body, incinirating my veins like molten lava. At my sides, I clenched my hands in fury. Who did these assholes think they were? Not only did they come close to ending my life, but now they had shifted to verbally assaulting me. With words as rigid as my spine, I replied, "What the hell do you think you're doing! I'm calling the cops."

"Wimpy slut," another boy interjected, snickering, "she's just upset we made her ass harder to want than it already was."

Although I'd been in many scenarios with disrespectful boys before, where I had handled it in a placid fashion, this time something snapped within me. None of them knew me, and I wasn't about to let them make false judgements. If anything, they should be in court, with a hefty lawsuit charged against them. Rather, I decided take justice into my own hands. Adrenaline sent me surging forward, charging toward the boys like an enraged bull. At about the time I started screeching, they got smart and made a break for it, dashing in all different directions.

Instead of pursuing the slowest victim, I targeted the fastest boy, simply for the elevated sense of satisfaction I would have when I caught him. Challenges were always a thrill for me. Since I was young, I basked in competition, similar to the behavior of an addict when they are able to acquire their desired drug. A faint breeze whistled in my ears as the soles of my sneakers slapped against the pavement. Merely five feet ahead, I heard the panicked, uneven breathing of my target. He was quick on his feet, but not fast enough. Mentally I thanked my mom for all those painstaking years she'd made me participate on the track team.

In one swift motion, I lunged using the soles of my feet, and then hooked my arms around the boy's neck, knocking us both to the ground. I was not a heavy girl, but because I distributed my body weight evenly, I was able to pin him on his back. Under me, my victim thrashed and cursed as he struggled to escape.

"Let go of me you... you bitch!" he gasped, wheezing from exertion. On his breath I caught a whiff of the stale stench of alcohol.

So he was drunk. Figures.

"Why did you do it?" I interrogated, trying to place a name to a face concealed by the blackness of the night. "Why did you attack me?"

"I'm not telling you nothing," he slurred, the words garbled like had a mouthful of marbles.

In the loudest tone I could muster, I ordered, "You will tell me. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't kick your ass." When he remained unresponsive, I pretended to heave a sigh of reluctance before I dug my nails into the delicate flesh of his arms.

Within several seconds, he was literally howling in pain. "Shit! Okay! Okay, we were trying to get that looney old man who runs that music store with the stupid name!"

"Mr. Quinn?" I whispered, the rage in my voice replaced with puzzlement.

Although I had spoken Mr. Quinn's name under my breath, the boy had apparently been listening as he agreed, "Yeah, Mr. Quinn. My buddy Ricky has a score to settle with that fat bastard."

"Why? What did Mr. Quinn ever do?" I persisted.

"None of your business," he snapped, his voice nervously cracking as it raised an octave.

Cocking a brow, I glared at the stranger beneath me. "Don't forget who has the upper hand here," I reminded him firmly, tightening my grip. "Tell me everything you know about Mr. Quinn."

The boy seemed to hesitate for a moment before he jerked upward, striving to throw me off of him. Prepared for his escape tactic, I swiftly put them to an end as I punched him in the left eye with crippling force. A brief dagger of pain shot through my knuckles as my hand connected with his eye socket, but I knew it was nowhere near as agonizing as what my victim was experiencing. Despite his screams as he covered his injured eye with his fingers, I couldn't help but feel a bit satisfied. In my head, my dark thoughts jeered he deserved it. And I found myself agreeing.

Without warning, the other three teenage boys came tumbling out of the bushes, rushing to the aid of their fallen comrade. Although there were still so many questions I wanted my captive to answer, I accepted I was outnumbered. And according to tonight's earlier incident and the fact that these boys were as far from sober as anyone could be, I knew any fight with them they would win unfairly. Instead of opting for an early death, I released my grip on the boy.

However, as he was staggering to his feet, a single car came coasting down the road, illuminating him in the glow of the headlights, and giving me a glimpse of my victim for the first time. My jaw dropped as I immediately identified the deep blue eyes of Jesse Tuck, his left eye nearly swollen shut and turning a nasty shade of purple. His good right eye widened as he realized who I was. For several moments that seemed like an eternity we both stood there, paralyzed, staring at each other with bewildered expressions. Jesse was the first to break out of his reverie. Brushing the dirt off his jacket, he proudly set his shoulders forward in a cocky manner. His mouth curved upward into an unattractive smirk. As he turned to rejoin his friends, he called over his shoulder, "See you in school, bitch."

**At the conclusion of chapter 4, I just wanted to thank all of my readers, especially those who reviewed my story! I love positive feedback because it encourages me to keep pursuing my dream of being a future author. As always, keep reviewing! :-) Also, if you have any questions regarding any of my stories, you can always pm me. **


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